


Like A Shroud

by Emby_M



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Comfort, Gen, Overstressed, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 01:43:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9856397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emby_M/pseuds/Emby_M
Summary: Meagan is looking worse for wear, and Anton isn't doing much better.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My favorite sailor duo needed a nap. Anton is a good boy. Meagan is wonderful and too kind, secretly.  
> If you enjoy, please leave comments and kudos!

Meagan has been looking worse for wear. The Wale is stuffed full these days, and the past hangs on Meagan's shoulders like a deep shroud.  
  
Anton tries to sleep where he can, but the proximity of Jindosh is making his stomach uneasy, so he takes the Lord Protector's coping mechanism, which is to nap.  
  
There is much regret to be had.  
  
He wakes, once, to find Meagan brewing some tea. From the light it could be dusk, but dawn was equally likely. Her shoulders are uneven, the angle of them unfamiliar on her and definitively nervous.  
  
"Meagan," he says, his voice sounding as though underwater.  
  
She turns, and her eye is - tired. Exhausted, even.  
  
That wouldn't do. When Meagan was tired she lost her snappy edge, and that was unacceptable.  
  
"Come here," he says, opening his arm.  
  
She stares at him for a moment, like he's dumb. Maybe he is.  
  
"I can't," she says, and her hands still on the kettle, warming slowly over the stable coil.  
  
"You must," he says, and she considers this mildly.  
  
She turns the coil off with a click, and sits, perched on the edge of the couch where the curve of him leaves it revealed.  
  
He rests a hand on her back. A support.  
  
She rests her head in her hands.  
  
"It shouldn't be so hard," she says.  
  
Anton nods. He, out of anyone, understands.  
  
"Yes, but it is."  
  
And it surprises him, but not all the way, that Meagan lies down, her head under his chin, and throws an arm around his waist. They barely fit together on this slim berth couch, but the proximity is nice.  
  
Anton places a hand on her back again, smoothing it against the thick oiled canvas of her coat.  
  
She sighs, deep, and tucks her head against his chest.  
  
"You smell," she says, and he laughs quietly.  
  
"I do my best," he replies, and her loose hand knocks against his ribs.  
  
He pats her back gently, making an even, slow rhythm against her shoulder-blade. He thinks it might be in time with his heartbeat.  
  
"There's supposed to be - dinner," she says, mouth clumsy with drowsiness.  
  
"They're all adults, they can care for themselves. You rest."  
  
Meagan sighs, deeply again, and then tucks her head closer into his chest, and falls asleep.


End file.
